Thank you to everyone who's been reading, commenting, and sticking around. It does mean a lot to me to know that someone out there is interested to read this. A special huge thanks to Woodspurge whose comments have been pushing me to go on.
Sorry for the updates being not that frequent. It's becoming more difficult because as I move towards the post-Mockingjay time, I am sort of debating with myself how to rule this out. Your feedback is always greatly appreciated.
- 1 -
I do not even take offence with Haymitch. It is as if another bomb from the Capitol was dropped and left me once again deaf, and blind, and maimed for life. As if my face is a bloody mask, and my body is squished and torn into pieces. One doesn't take offence at the bomb, one is just hurting all over and praying for a quick end.
I report extreme fatigue - which is not untrue - and ask to be transferred somewhere else. This time they are not so easily persuaded, and all I gain is having day shifts instead of working at nights.
Then, I resort to the only way to cure myself that I know. For a while I contemplate asking Gale for a date but quickly abandon the idea. First, he is too busy with Katniss filming these propos and doing I don't know what. And then, probably the only reason why he is attractive to me is again Katniss. As if cheating on her with her cousin-boyfriend-fellow-hunter, I would somehow get my revenge on her mentor. The twisted way my mind works now makes me somewhat scared. It is as if this bleak life underground sucks out my sanity.
I turn to Kerl instead, and one evening we lock ourselves in the hospital bathroom. It is dark, dirty, and smelly in there, and what we do to each other is no better. What makes it even worse, he is so gentle, and tries to kiss me, and make me feel good... and I don't need this at all. I want the boy to strike me, make it hurt... so that the physical pain would snap me out of this dull hopelessness. In the darkness of the bathroom, I close my eyes and imagine Aelius making out with me. Not the arrogant handsome Peacekeeper I've known but that mutt that clung to me with his face a mask of bubbling yellow and red. When I hear Kerl blubbering away about me being beautiful, wonderful, and the best ever, I start to giggle and then laugh out loud.
That is when the patients in the adjoining rooms start complaining about the noise. I am glad because if it were not for them, I would have probably started raving and banging my head on the wall. As we hastily get out, I tell the boy,
"Well, you're nothing to boast about, you know... So let's forget about what just happened, okay?"
When I watch his face changing, I feel both pleasure and remorse.
Days pass by, and each day brings more rules, responsibilities, and flag-waving proclamations.
I work at the hospital, nip at my food, lose weight, spend sleepless nights blinded by the green-yellow electric light, scream at my aunt, and snap at Rote. I am annoyed with everyone. Even sympathetic Delly who tells me I do not look well, although she herself is a sight taking care of her younger brother and mourning their parents. Even our glorious ever-surviving Mockingjay (someone really should change her name to Phoenix) who is allowed to hunt and run around in the fresh air, while I am stuck inside, and if I don't like it, too bad for me.
- 2 -
The worst is yet to come. One morning there is a '9:30 am - Doctor's Appointment' on my daily schedule. Again some routine check-up and blood tests... I am unhappy that I have to skip my usual morning training session. There I can at least doze off at the back of the auditorium while the speaker rambles on how to differentiate between different types of guns and bombs only by their sound. As if it helps you to know what bomb you are going to be blown into pieces with.
The doctor asks me directly into her office, and as I grudgingly perch on the edge of the chair, she tells me they have the results of my tests and then asks me a series of very strange questions.
"When and how often did you have your sexual intercourse? I know you are not married, but have you been dating anyone in particular? Or was that with different partners? Are they here now?"
As I burst out, "What business is this of yours? How do you even know I had this intercourse? Is it something in my blood tests or just on my sweet innocent face?", she replies calmly and as-a-matter-of-fact.
"I did not mean to interfere with your privacy, Lia. Yet, since you are now pregnant, your future child's health is our common concern. I need to find out as much about your partner's background as possible in order to exclude..."
"What?!"
Her voice trails off as I gasp, and for the first time in my life almost pass out. Breath in - breath out. Slowly. Again. One more time. That cannot be...
"Your tests are all bullshit. I've been taking my medications all the time. My aunt made me to."
"What medications have you been taking?" She asks sympathetically.
"Stoneseed root and... hmm... Thistles. For almost three years by now."
"Oh that," she smiles and shakes her head, "The medicine available in your former district leaves wishing for better... All I can say you're lucky you've kept your ground for so long."
"He is dead," I tell grimly to my doctor, "Died during the bombing. He was... um... my classmate. From a very good family of merchants."
No way I am telling anyone that I got knocked up by the Peacekeeper.
"I'm sorry about that, Lia," she says, "I understand how you must feel. My husband also died during the epidemics. We were newlywed."
'Fat chance that you understand,' I think and say aloud,
"So, when am I to come for... um... the regular procedure?"
"I think check-ups twice a month should be sufficient," she answers kindly, "And of course, if meanwhile you feel worse, you can contact me or my colleagues at any time."
"No," I dig my nails into my palms, both nervous and dizzy again, "What check-ups are you talking about? I need an abortion."
"Pardon me?" She pretends that she has not heard me but I can see her eyes narrowing slightly and prepare myself for a fight.
"You don't think I am going to keep it, do you? I mean I am not married, and still underage, and my relatives have no idea..."
"We are well-prepared," her voice softens again as she tries to persuade me, "We have a highly qualified personnel and all the necessary equipment. Even though you are young, I can assure you that no danger threatens your or your future child's well-being. As to your family situation, we can provide counseling services..."
"Oh yeah," I cannot keep irony out of my voice, "Counseling services will sure help. You clearly don't know my aunt."
"In the worst case scenario, we have special quarters for young mothers. You will have all possible care..."
I zone out of the conversation thinking hard and desperately. Right, this is District 13. Two thirds of the population infertile. Of course, they will take care of me and my child. MY child. To listen to her, I might be the only pregnant woman in the whole district. Probably, I am. With all this bleak life underground. No fun in making love. I need a really good reason that would make her see why my pregnancy should be interrupted. Perhaps, I should have told her the child's father was ill with some incurable disease? Too late now. She'll see me through. Although I try to keep my ground and breathe deeply, the panic slowly creeps in. MY child. Oh no. Oh no. I don't want it. Why should it happen to me of all people?
I interrupt the doctor in the middle of her compassionate speech.
"Whatever! I don't want this child. I didn't love its father. I will hate it as well. You cannot make me!"
Her stare hardens.
"Why don't we discuss this later when you calm down and..."
"I don't want any more discussions!" I almost scream, "Don't you hear me? I don't want to be pregnant. You can't make me!"
"Very well," she sighs and stands up in front of me, "If you insist, I'll explain. I am sure you are aware of the situation in our district. Abortions are prohibited since we value each newborn child."
"That shouldn't concern me. I am not even a citizen..."
"Oh, but you are," she contradicts, "You've been accepted as a refugee. You've been granted an automatic citizenship. Finally, you live here, therefore, you must comply with our rules."
I shake my head as if having one of Rote's seizures.
"No. No! You just don't get it, do you? I'm young. I'm still a teen. My whole life is ahead of me. How can you expect me to ruin it so? This is inhumane."
"Killing a not yet born human being is inhumane," she corrects me coldly, "However, you did not let me finish. If by the time your baby is due you do not change your mind, the child will be adopted. There are many couples here who crave for such happiness. Naturally, we are not going to force you to bring the child up, although I do hope you'll come to your senses in the next couple of months."
I fall silent. My instinct tells me any further arguments will be useless. This woman will not be swayed. Neither her, nor anyone else in this damned underground tomb we are buried alive in.
As I am contemplating my options, and the doctor watches me suspiciously, I remember something else. Haymitch being forced into sobriety because their rules prohibit alcohol consumption. They closed him in and put him on medications clearly against his will, even though he is important for the rebellion. What are they going to do with some stubborn girl who wants to get rid of her child then? Place me into solitary confinement for the next eight months or so? Or worse? A chill runs up my spine. I have to be careful. So very careful now. It's not only my future that is at stake. It's my freedom and sanity.
I do not even have to fake my tears. I am so terrified that they are already running down my cheeks.
I make a sorrowful face of a repentant sinner and hold the doctor's hand.
"I'm so sorry. I... I don't know what I am talking about. It's so unexpected... I... I guess I am just scared. My aunt, and all... and then, you know, doctor, we broke up with my boyfriend just before the bombing. I never even thought..."
I go on in the same half-witted manner to persuade the woman that I have no intention of getting rid of the child on my own. I am just a silly teen who is frightened of the new responsibility. It seems to work because she pats me on the shoulder, offers me some tranquilizer pill (which I spit out as soon as I leave her office), and finally lets me go confirming the date of the next appointment and making arrangements with the nurse to visit me each day, just in case, and the counseling services. She even agrees not to inform my relatives just yet which is good because if I have any luck at all, no one will ever need to know.
- 3 -
No one suspects anything. Although Rote acts somewhat strangely. He stops joking around and watches me eat all of my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In the afternoon, I go to the hospital, and they give me a vitamin shot, take some more urine and blood samples, weight and measure me regularly.
I feel like a pig raised for slaughter. Its owner is concerned for its well-being since he needs meat. No one cares for me because of myself. All they are interested in is this child. This completely unexpected surprise I have no idea what to do with. I wonder what they would say if they found out its father was a sadistic Peacekeeper? Probably would stuff me with more vitamins.
I continue working at the hospital. Taking nursing classes. No, I am still not particularly happy about the job. Yet, dealing with people who are in much worse physical or mental condition than myself seems to be the only thing I can do to distract myself from the subtle changes in my body and mind. "Distraction" is not the right word. More like watching these people helps me pull myself together. I am not like them. That means I can do better. That half-an-hour of the "sexual intercourse" in the bathroom scared the hell out of me. If I go on like that, I risk turning into a lunatic.
- 4 -
Next time I see Haymitch is somewhat a couple of weeks after our nice talk at the hospital ward. So many things have happened since then, and I feel strangely disconnected from all of that. Hard to digest after so many years living from one reaping to another with almost nothing happening in between. The bombing. The rescuing of Peeta, that stray-eyed girl-victor from District 7, and another green-eyed girl-victor.
I am working at the wing with chronic patients, so I would not even know what is going on, if it were not for the doctors' new idea. It seems that a large part of Peeta's rehabilitation process is to surround him with people who cannot evoke Katniss-related memories.
That's how it happens that I am assigned to his ward. After Delly, I am considered as the most likely catalyst of positive emotions because I am a kid from the merchant section and his former playmate. Being in a nursing program is a plus. No difficult responsibilities. Just bringing food and chatting with him about school, bakery, and painting. My doctor is doubtful at first because stress is not recommended for pregnant women. Peeta's doctors and I have to fight with her. The truth is I do want to see Peeta. If I am a girl from his past before Katniss, he is also a boy from my past before Haymitch.
On my first day I am warned not to talk much. Just smile, be friendly and go about my business while they watch his reaction. Which is just as good because as I step into the ward and try to connect this pale lip-biting hazard-looking boy with the Peeta I knew, I choke on my greetings.
He does remember who I am and what games we played after school but he is so gone and lost. It is as if we were talking not about his own life but some imagined story out of some book we both have half-forgotten. He is not sure of anything, and he seems so far away from all this that for a moment I almost envy him. I would have liked to forget my life in the past. Towards the end of my shift though, my envy melts into dismay and pity as Peeta tells me in strangely strained voice,
"I don't know what to believe in anymore. I don't even know if you, Delly and everyone around are true or mutts like her."
The medical assistant whispers in my earphone an order to retreat. Instead, I come back to Peeta's bed. I badly want to hug him but he flinches even as I approach closer. So, I just hold out my hand,
"Most important is that you know what you are. Once you figure that out, it gets easier with the rest."
He looks at my hand as if not sure what to do with it, so I just pat the blanket next to his strapped arm.
"For me, you are my classmate and my friend. That's how I think about it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he says.
I falter. It dawns upon me that I do not know since I've never really had a friend. Someone I could be close to. Like Katniss and Gale are. Yet, I carefully think it over and answer,
"A friend is a person you like. A person you can talk to and... share things, you know."
"Everyone here seems to want to talk to me and ask things," he says, "Yet somehow I do not feel like they are my friends."
"Well, you must want it yourself... to talk and share," I falter. His questions make me confused and uneasy. For some reason, I feel like a cheat. As if I failed him somehow.
His eyes go blank.
"The only thing I want now is to be left alone, and for people not to watch me day and night," he says and turns his back towards me.
As I walk out of the room, I see Haymitch in the corridor. Talking to Peeta's doctor. Although he does not look in my direction, his presence gives me a jolt, and I hurry to leave not even waiting for the medical assistants to talk things over and decide on the plan for my next visit.
The only thing I have not considered is that Haymitch is actually going to be here. Coming in and out of the adjoining room that has a one-way glass wall to check on his former tribute. Somehow I got an impression he was more into Katniss, and I have not even thought that in these busy days full of revolution and the Mockingjay he will find time or need to keep track of Peeta's recovery.
- 5 -
I do not have a heart to refuse to visit Peeta now. It would seem I am just like everyone else. People who want to come and talk to him, to talk about things it hurts even to think about, and then leave back to their quarters without a second thought once their shift is over. He is an object of medical or political interest for everyone but us three, Haymitch, Delly, and me.
I do not know about Katniss. They say she left for District 2. Leaving her troubles behind for a new task is probably just as convenient for her as it is for Haymitch to turn his back at me. That is what they share in common. Both do not like people whom they once hurt. For she did hurt Peeta. Maybe, not now in her current function as a mutt, but in those few months after the 74th Hunger Games. I did not understand back then why he faltered and looked a bit lost each time she went past the bakery. I do understand it now.
When I talk to Peeta, it somehow helps me no matter how weird he acts. I try to focus on him so hard that I almost forget myself, the yet invisible baby that grows inside me, and the fact that at this very moment Haymitch might be watching us. However, as I find out very soon, I do not need to worry about that. After our first encounter, Haymitch probably finds out my schedule and makes sure our visits do not coincide. I do not see him there again. Not even once.
Peeta gets somewhat used to me. Sometimes he watches me drawing. Sometimes I tell him my aunt's fairy tales making sure to omit all the monsters, dark-haired girls, and hunters.
Yet that haunted look in his eyes is always there. From time to time he stops whatever we have been doing and listens as if for the distant footsteps of a mutt. His gaze becomes vacant or worse fierce and fearful at the same time.
He still asks questions. Many questions I have no idea how to answer.
The "how do I know that you all are not mutts" question is among his favorites, but there are others just as tough.
"Why did you like me before? Yes, you say I was nice, friendly, and always shared some cookies with you. So, you liked me for what I did for you? Then, you are lying when you say you like me now? I am not nice, not friendly, and I have no cookies."
or
"They say Katniss loved me. Does loving someone means hurting that person? Then, why do they say it is good? Would you yourself want to be hurt?"
or even worse
"What's the point of all this?"
Each time I walk out of his ward slightly dizzy and slowly come back to the reality. It feels both me and Peeta are the patients under the doctors' watch. I am yet to find out who of us both is incurable.
- 6 -
For the first three weeks or so, I do not do anything to get rid of the child. With the nurse and the doctor getting in touch with me almost daily, I have a strong suspicion I might be under some special surveillance. If things do not work out the way I want them at my first attempt, I do not want to be seized and put under the lock.
However, as time goes on, with the bombing, the three tributes arriving, and my exemplary behavior, the doctor gradually loosens the reins.
So, one evening I decide to try. I lock myself in the shower at the designated time and fill in the tub with the hot water. It hurts like hell. My skin burns and I bite the inside of my mouth not to scream. Ideally, I should have been adding the hot water gradually but I do not have time. It is fifteen minutes only until the next person's turn.
All the week after I hurt all over, and rough District 13 clothes are extremely painful. Then, my skin starts to peel off. It is good we all wear long-sleeved shirts and pants. No change in my condition though, and I do not have any courage to repeat my attempt.
Late in the evening, just before the curfew, when the corridors are mostly empty, I ramble around until I find the little side staircase that leads to the block - one level below - where the propo team sometimes holds their daily meetings. No one is going to be in so late at night, but if the patrol asks me what I am doing there, I can always say I was looking for Katniss to tell her the last news about Peeta. The former classmate and dear friend, that sort of things.
I linger at the top of the steep metal stairs and peer into the opening. It is dark downstairs, and I am actually a little scared. It is not that easy to throw myself down knowing that I might as likely as not break my neck.
For two or three times, I am about to jump and then, at the very last moment, instinctively grip the railing. For my fourth time, I close my eyes, but as I about to plunge forward, one of the doors downstairs unexpectedly slides open, and the bright light nearly blinds me.
Unprepared, I draw back so that whoever that might be won't see me, lose my balance, and then, I am plummeting off the stairs for real, painfully bumping into each corner, blooding my knees and elbows. The man who has opened the door at such an inconvenient time catches me half way through, which is just as good since I would have probably ended up splitting my head open if not worse.
Another man probably distracted by the noise comes out of the conference hall.
"Who's there, Haymitch?" he calls out to my savior.
My head throbs. My back seems to be one giant bruise. My right leg is completely numb and hurts like hell. I squint up at Haymitch who still holds me without even looking at me. The sleeve of his shirt is smeared with blood trickling down my chin.
"The girl who helps the nurses," he answers calmly, "The one who takes care of Peeta Mellark."
Right. Peeta. What was my alibi again?
The man - I recognize Plutarch Heavensbee's heavily set frame - watches me in surprise.
"Oh yes, I do know you. Liana or Lia, is it? What happened? Did the Mellark boy attack you?"
I almost cry out in pain as Haymitch releases me, and I am trying to stand on my own.
"No, sir. I... tripped on the stairs. It's rather dark here. I am fine though."
"Are you quite sure?" Mr. Heavesnbee looks over Haymitch and me with a curious expression on his face.
"Yes, sir, I apologize for disturbing you. I was just looking for Katniss to tell her about how Peeta had spent his day."
"Katniss?" Mr. Heavensbee raises his brows, "She should be in her compartment as far as I know."
"I must have misunderstood something, sir," I explain lamely, "I thought she was at the meeting. She told me so."
All the while, Haymitch has been keeping silence, and I don't dare to look at him anymore. He might think I came here after him and fulfill his promise of getting me under the arrest. After that episode at the hospital, I won't be too surprised.
"Oh well," Plutarch Heavensbee is still watching me, "So, how is our Peeta today? I did not have an opportunity to check on him yet."
"What?.. Oh, he is a little bit better," I say feeling more and more uncomfortable next to the two men, "He was talking to me about that school play we once staged. Katniss was singing in that play. I thought that might be a good sign, and Katniss would want to know... I guess I'll have to tell her tomorrow. I am sorry. I need to go now to get to my compartment before the curfew."
"You'd do well if you visit the nurse station," Heavensbee remarks, "Perhaps, we'd better call someone to help you get there?"
"No, I'm fine. Really. Just a few scratches."
To demonstrate my agility, I attempt climbing up the stairs, but my right leg immediately buckles up under my weight, and it is so painful that I start to see floaters and stars.
Haymitch gives me quite a nasty look and says evenly,
"I'll take her back to the hospital wing. We are just about done for today anyway, and I was going to check on Peeta."
"What? Please, no."
That's right. He takes no heed of me. As always. And Heavensbee is already by the elevator.
Great. Just great. Surely, my doctor will find everything out and I am in for more tests and check-ups, if not worse.
As me and Haymitch exit the elevator and Heavensbee is on his way up, I bravely try to hop on one leg.
"Now, I don't have a whole night ahead of me," Haymitch snarls, and quite unceremoniously picks me up.
I do not say anything. I still remember his warning. I bite my lip trying not to whimper as carries me into the emergency room.
"What happened?" the nurse exclaims.
"Don't you see for yourself? Curiosity nearly killed the cat."
As I am sitting in the hospital ward - Haymitch long gone, and the nurse putting a plaster cast on my leg - I am sizzling with rage. I can't believe I am still hurting over Haymitch Abernathy. What can he and his surly moods possibly matter now when my life is crumbling apart?
- 7 -
I see Haymitch again a month later at the wedding of my cousin's teen crush Finnick Odair and the green-eyed girl named Anne. I go there grudgingly. My dress is old and sketchy-looking. My leg is barely out of its cast and I have it in a plastic support. At least, my belly does not show yet. If I did not know for sure, I would have never believed I could be pregnant. I am almost the same, if anything, even skinnier from all this vomiting and the District 13 meager diet.
I do not want to see the smiling happy face of the bride. Not when my own future is so dark and fuzzy. Yet, I promised Peeta to be the witness of his cake's success. So, here I am at the event, and after an hour or so I even start to like it. Seeing so many people doing something else together besides working, eating, or planning a rebellion.
In a little while I even venture a dance and then another hand in hand with some guy whose name I do not even know. I am spinning around and laughing. Even with the walking brace, I have more dancing partners than any other girl on the dance floor, or so it seems.
It is when I am dancing that I first feel it. A soft almost timid pulsing inside of my stomach. I stop in my tracks and break free from my partner. I push my way out of the stuffy room and along the corridor past the chatting and laughing people. I do not quite understand what's going on with me. I want to cry and laugh at the same time. Most of all though I want to be out... Out of this burrow. I do not care if I get killed. I cannot go on like this... I just can't!
I meet Haymitch on my way to the upper quarters. Hopelessly hoping to escape now when everyone is so preoccupied with this wedding. Why didn't I make friends with some of the guards? Anything but to get outside even for just one minute... I stop as I see Haymitch, still somewhat yellow-skinned and thin but definitely looking better than last time. He looks down at me and - to my surprise - says quite good-naturedly,
"Why, girl, I was just wondering what the odds are of you bumping into me yet again."
My child's heart beats in me, and my own heart echoes it wildly.
He probably notices something, or maybe it's just me having become so thin and hollow-eyed. His face expression changes to somewhat concerned.
"What's wrong?"
I cannot even speak for I am afraid I might choke. I manage to whisper bitterly,
"Oh Mr. Abernathy, have you forgotten that you forbade me to talk to you?"
Once safe and alone in the next corridor, I bend over and hit my own belly. Again, and yet again. Why must it all have happened to me? What's the matter with me? Why can't I hate them both - this unwanted child, and this man who does not want me?
- 8 -
I have no hate in me. Apparently I have no pride as well.
The day comes when I go to see Peeta off right before his departure to join the Capitol squad. As I try to smile reassuringly, my insides twist into a tight knot.
Where are they taking him? He is so apparently still unwell. So unlike the old Peeta. His face is pale grayish, and he bites his lips. He even moves slower as if dazzled or - what is more likely - drugged.
I hug him, and pat his back, and wish him good luck. Make him promise he will come back, but all my and his words ring hollow. The air is heavy with distrust and the ghost of the mutt Katniss.
I do not even get to spend much time with him. The doctors and the military personnel ask me out as they give Peeta final instructions and perform the last check-ups.
I linger next to the hovercraft section until I hear the dull far-away buzzing, and then, people are spilling out of the elevator. Haymitch Abernathy is the last one. He walks past me - huddled in the grey uniform, tired, and sober. For an outsider, he would probably seem his usual surly self, but I perceive a shade of something else under the facade of his gloom.
One of the leaders of this revolution. All of his fellow victors long dead and gone. The only two people in the world he cares about are gone to war - both irretrievably damaged and vulnerable, each in their own way. Too much going on in his mind right now to think about one more foolish teen. Too much is on the stake. True, he was unkind to me, but who was ever kind to him? He hurt me, but they hurt him more at the arena and after. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
So, in the end, it is again my instinct that leads me to do one thing I believe might be of help.
- 9 -
In the evening, I sneak along the corridors in Rote's old pants and standard-grey hoodie. Both at least three sizes large but completely conceal my face and body. It is better this way since I do not want any of my relatives - or worse, my doctor, - know where exactly I am going to spend my night. Whoever sees me passing by, might take me for a skinny teenage boy - and quite a few of them - almost all from District 12 - dart around.
Not at this time though. The corridors are almost empty and bright with the blinking sickening greenish-yellow light. The only people who are still up are the medical and military personnel and with so much going on in the Capitol, they give no second thought about me up so late. No one even stops me on my way.
I have a passing thought that he is not going to be there. Who knows when these men deciding the fate of the Panem sleep (if they do at all). But when I quietly knock, the door to his quarters opens almost immediately.
Haymitch Abernathy's dark-rimmed hollow eyes fall on me - standing there in my hoodie.
It is only this very brief moment.
Us looking at one another.
The light bulb blinking.
Then, he steps aside so that I may enter, and I am not even surprised at being welcome. I think that I - or rather, my guts - must have known it along just like I knew he would let me in when I was heading to his house on that last night before the last reaping.
The standard cot with crumbled sheets, a desk, a closet, and two chairs. Nothing more. No personal things. The room looks not lived in. Empty. Devoid of colors. Devoid of warmth.
The man who is standing in front of me is not much different from his dwellings.
He looks as if he feels permanently chilled. Still thin, or rather haggard.
He says not unkindly.
"You look a mess. Life here doesn't agree with you either, does it?"
As he says this, I notice how worn out I myself feel. It's too much for just anyone. Not for the lack of sleep only. For the lack of sunshine and warmth. For the lack of a normal life instead of this almost 18-years long dragging on or being scared out of my wits.
His stare is fixed on me, and I want to crouch and cover myself. I am skinny. My stomach does not show quite yet, the uniform is too large, and still...
Suddenly he reaches out and touches the side of my face.
"Where did this come from?"
I have almost forgotten. The traces of cigarette stubs Aelius had entertained himself with. There are more of those down there on my stomach and breasts. This particular burn on my cheekbone is there because I'd been trying to wriggle out, and Aelius wanted to give a lesson of obedience.
I shrug my shoulders. To explain means to talk about the rest.
Haymitch does not ask anything more and - at last - his stare does not bore into me any longer.
His hand slides to the nape of my neck and down between my shoulder blades. It is warm and firm.
"Don't worry, once everything is over, they'll fix it," he says suddenly, "When I got back from the Games, I had a scar on my stomach - that big of a size," he measures out the width with his index finger and thumb, "And now - look."
As he lifts up his shirt, his paunch casually protruding over the waistband of his trousers, I indeed see no trace of the wound.
Haymitch winks at me probably noticing my flabbergasted face expression, and I cannot help but snort back. This makes me feel so much better about myself. About everything. And that is when I almost fall apart. Almost tell him. Almost. But no... That is not why I came here for. He has his own burden. He does not need to bother with my problems.
"I'm glad you are not angry at me anymore like you were all this time," I say.
"That's where you are mistaken."
I look at him expecting to see his usual mock frustration or annoyance. Instead, I see something very different. Something that makes me ask.
"Peeta?"
And he responds,
"Don't."
Peeta was my classmate. He is my friend. I have sat hours and hours next to his bed in the hospital wing. I have the right to know what is going on. But there is such a strained urgency in Haymitch's voice. Danger. High voltage. Do not come closer. Do not ask questions. Don't.
The roles have switched since the day I have been sitting in his kitchen with my black eye a little bit more than a year ago.
I do the same thing that I did then.
I throw my arms around his neck.
Only this time it is not about me at all.
The communicator buzzes, and after a brief glance at it, Haymitch makes it for the door.
"You can sleep here," he says without looking at me, "There is no need to go out after the curfew."
"When will you be back?" I bite my tongue because this is clearly not my business.
He lets it go.
"Just slam the door shut when you leave, will you?"
When he is gone, I crumple under the blankets fully dressed. As I lay with the greenish light on and slowly inhale his smell, I finally feel at home. At peace with myself. Just for this little while.
It is good I trusted my instincts and came to see him because this night becomes Haymitch's last night at District 13. The next day the Capitol kills Katniss Everdeen.